“Our people have been vaccinated,” Sondra said. “The only likely victims are themselves.”
“The point remains that they are defying us,” Troutman said. “We should not be compromising our principles for them.”
“Director Melbourne believes they will tolerate blood tests,” Sondra said. “That will let us know if they are carrying anything dangerous.”
“They will tolerate,” Troutman repeated. “What they are prepared to tolerate is not the issue, Sondra. The issue is just how willing we are to let them defy us!”
“Blood tests would at least let us know if they are diseased,” William said. “It would be a suitable compromise ...”
“This is not a business negotiation,” Troutman snapped. “Nor is it a good-natured argument over who gets what seats on which parliamentary committees. This is ... this is deciding to alter our system, purely for the sake of a bunch of idiots too stupid to realise the advantages of vaccinating their goddamned children! What next? Will we ban women from voting because traditionalist Forsakers believe women should remain in the homes and leave politics to the men?”
“No one has proposed anything of the sort,” William said.
“It’s only a matter of time,” Troutman said. “We are being asked to bend rules that cannot be bent without calling everything else into question.”
He shook his head. “Call the Imperial Navy and tell them to hold the rest of the refugees in orbit, then tell the ones on the ground that they can take the vaccinations or get shipped back to orbit,” he said. “Their final disposition is not our concern.”
“The Imperial Navy has flatly refused to do anything of the sort,” William said. “Admiral Carlow is adamant that his ships and crew are required elsewhere.”
“Probably finding more refugees to dump on us,” Troutman said.
“We cannot force them to stop,” Commodore Charles Van Houlton said, flatly. “If we refuse to let them land at the spaceport, they’ll land somewhere in the hinterlands.”
“Let them land on Minoa,” Troutman snapped.
William took a long breath. “We’ll give them the blood tests,” he said. “And if there are reasons to be concerned, afterwards, we’ll revisit the issue.”
“This is not a compromise,” Troutman said. “This is a surrender.”
William ignored him. “Chief Constable,” he said. “What is your impression of the situation?”
“Bloody worrying, sir,” the Chief Constable said. “Bluntly, if it does turn into a full-scale riot, the officers on the ground will be overwhelmed. I’ve dispatched reinforcements from Lothian, at the cost of stripping police presence on the ground to the bare minimum, but we are short on riot foam and everything else we might need if matters do get out of hand.”
“Call up a posse,” Troutman suggested.
“A posse wouldn't have any training for riot control either,” the Chief Constable pointed out, dryly. “And there would likely be a bloody slaughter.”
He paused. “I’ve got men digging some of the older weapons and equipment out of storage, but we might have to build some items from scratch,” he added. “That will not make our life any easier.”
William nodded, ruefully. Arthur’s Seat was a law-abiding planet, lacking the incivility or colossal overpopulation of Earth and the other Core Worlds. There were only five thousand police officers on the entire planet, perhaps seven thousand including the reserves. Getting five or six hundred constables in one place would be difficult. And training new police officers simply couldn't be done in a hurry.
“See what you can do,” he ordered.
Troutman snorted. “And what happens if you lose control of the spaceport?”
He jabbed a finger towards the map. “The spaceport is only five miles from Lothian,” he reminded them. “What happens when the howling mob descends on the capital city?”
“There isn't a howling mob,” William said, sharply.
“Yet,” Troutman snapped back. “How many people in the city are actually armed?”
William winced. The rural dwellers were armed, mainly with shotguns and hunting rifles, but it was rare for the urban population to carry weapons. It wasn't technically forbidden, it just didn't happen. But that might change, he thought, as rumours spread out of control. His staff informed him that the datanet was already buzzing with stories, each one more exaggerated than the last.
“These people think they can make demands on us,” Troutman continued, when William said nothing. “Right now, they are demanding we change our immigration rules for them. Soon enough, they’ll demand food that has been ritually prepared and separate quarters and schooling for men and women. They will keep going until they find something we physically cannot give them ... and then they will riot. And by that point, organising resistance will be much harder.”
He paused. “If they are prepared to integrate, if they are prepared to become like us, then they could be welcomed,” he said. “But I think it’s fairly clear that merely being on this rock isn't going to make them like us.”
“You’re being paranoid,” Sondra said. “It’s been less than a day since they landed.”
“Yes,” Troutman agreed. “Two hours. And in two hours, we’ve had a near-riot over a matter so minor it never occurred to any of us that it would be a problem. What next?”
He shrugged. “We need to confine them to the spaceport and start preparing for war,” he added, grimly. “If we can't stop the Imperial Navy from dumping them on us, we have to be ready to make sure they don’t cause trouble.”
William sighed. “We can boost our police forces,” he said. “And start issuing weapons ...”
He sighed, again. There had been an ... innocence about Arthur’s Seat. Crime was rare, seldom anything more than theft or drunken brawling. The police didn't go armed because the police didn't need to be armed. But that might be about to change.
“Yes,” Troutman said. “And what else are we going to do?”
“There will be teething problems,” Sondra said, flatly. “I do not deny that there will be problems. Both we and they will have to adapt ...”
“That's where you’re wrong,” Troutman said. “We don’t have to adapt. This is our world.”
Sondra ignored him. “I believe, in a year or two from now, we will be laughing over how wrong we were,” she continued. “This planet has a long history with the Forsakers, a history that shows how two cultures can merge and become one. We can and we will integrate the newcomers.”
“But that is a lie,” Troutman pointed out. “There are people who wear traditional clothing for harvest festivals and suchlike. But do they actually do anything else? Do they pray? Do they farm? Do they send their sons to do manual labour and keep their daughters in the kitchen? Do they shun or expel those who talk to Outsiders ...?
“Of course not. And realistically, they can’t. The original colonists might have had an influence on our shared culture, but it was a very mild influence. There were too many of us and too much incentive to abandon the Forsaker path. Their descendants aren't even Forsakers in name! How much use did you make of your heritage before now? Did it even mean something to you?”
“I believe we have gone over this already,” William said, sharply.
“And it has not lost its essential truth,” Troutman said. “Has it?”
He shrugged. “The Imperial Navy has screwed us,” he added. “Either we keep bending over to accommodate the refugees, ruining our civilisation in the process, or we take whatever steps are necessary to preserve it. And that too will damage our civilisation.”
William took a long breath. “They can do the blood tests,” he said. “And then we will revisit the issue.”
He scowled down at the table. “Meeting adjourned.”
Troutman nodded, then departed with a final sneer. William watched him go, followed by the Chief Constable and the Commodore. Neither man had a vote, technically, but they did have influence. The rest of his cabinet had
remained silent, which was worrying. Did they agree with him? Or were they more inclined to back Troutman?
Because this issue could destroy us, he thought, morbidly. And there would be no guarantee of winning a vote of no-confidence.
“That man is an asshole,” Sondra said, when they were alone. “I don't know how the Freeholders put up with him.”
“He fights for them,” William said. Whatever else could be said about Troutman - and William had a lot of words for his opponent that couldn't be said in public - he couldn't deny that the man was a fighter. “And while he’s in the wrong, he’s still fighting.”
He glanced up as Sally, his secretary, peered into the room. “Premier?”
“Sally,” William said. His secretary was in her late twenties, with long brown hair and an efficient manner he found more than a little intimidating. He’d been offered a civil servant, but he’d been careful to pick and hire his own secretary, rather than work with someone who might have divided loyalties. “Do you have the latest updates?”
Sally nodded, glancing down at the datapad in her hand. “The first set of reports were picked up and rapidly distributed around the datanet, sir,” she said. “By now, I’d estimate a good fifty percent of the population has seen them. Various other reports, mostly exaggerated, have been spreading too, although not everyone appears to believe them.”
Sondra snorted. “How many people do believe them?”
“It’s impossible to say, Vice Premier,” Sally said. “There simply isn't enough data to even hazard a wild guess. But from what we’re seeing, quite a number of political commenters and bloggers have picked up the issue. The news media will not be far behind. I think most of the more extreme commentary comes from Freeholder sites, but it’s hard to be sure.”
“Of course,” Sondra said, darkly.
Sally shrugged. “There were a great many doubts about the issue between the official announcement and the actual landings,” she continued, “but public support for the government remained relatively steady. However, that may change in a hurry. I don’t have solid figures yet, but the datanet reports may cause people to lose faith in the government.”
William made a face. Troutman could call for a vote of no-confidence at any time, although the unspoken part of the constitution insisted that anyone who made the call and lost the vote had to step down himself. Part of him hoped that Troutman would try, even though there was no guarantee his successor would be any more reasonable. But that wasn't the real problem, not really. If the public turned against the government, his MPs would start to defect, suddenly making a vote of no-confidence all the more dangerous.
And they might try to unseat me even without one, he thought, sourly. If they thought I was a certified vote loser ...
“I’ll be addressing Parliament tomorrow,” he said. “Do you think it will change radically?”
“I think a public statement from you would probably help to calm things down,” Sally said, bluntly. “The datanet is all sound and fury, signifying nothing. However, the more worrying attitudes will not fade in a hurry. You need to apply corrective measures.”
“Spin,” William said.
“The public can be fickle,” Sondra agreed. “And very prone to changing its mind at a moment’s notice.”
William nodded slowly. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was something to be said for the Forsaker path. The modern world was too fast, too changeable ... these days, with the Empire crumbling into ruins, it was impossible to say what things would be like tomorrow. But living on a farm, growing crops and raising children ...
He sighed. It wasn't something he would want, not when he’d devoted half of his life to politics. But he could see the attraction. There was something pure about living on a primitive farm, something lacking from the modern world. He knew so little about how things functioned, at base, that he knew he wouldn’t survive if society collapsed. And yet, that wasn't true of a Forsaker on a farm. A decent farmer could plough his fields, repair his own tools and raise his children.
Troutman would probably agree, he thought, snidely. But perhaps not about banning all technology.
“I’ll make a statement this afternoon,” he said. He couldn't speak too early or it would look like he was panicking. “Hopefully, it will hit the datanet by the time most people get home from work.”
“And hope that Parliament doesn't get cold feet,” Sondra added. Her lips twisted in disapproval. “You don’t want them to change sides. I could name a couple of MPs who would if the price was right.”
“Just so long as Troutman can't name them,” William said. He scowled. Troutman was far from incompetent. “But he’ll be watching the datanet too.”
Chapter Eleven
This naturally resulted in whole populations of dispossessed citizens who were deprived of their lands, but had nowhere to go. Some of them were lucky enough to be able to integrate or obtain passage elsewhere; others, less fortunate, formed an underclass that rapidly became bitter, resentful and utterly unwilling to either integrate or leave.
- Professor Leo Caesius. Ethnic Streaming and the End of Empire.
Joel, John noted as they passed through the doors and into the reception chamber, was looking far too pleased with himself. A faint smile was clearly visible on his lips, even though his father had ruled that the Forsakers were to accept the blood tests. He thought he’d won, John thought, even though he wasn't sure what Joel had won. Maybe it was just the satisfaction of watching Outsiders give the Forsakers what they wanted for once.
Bastard, John thought. The policeman might have looked nice, but John doubted the planetary government would put up with Joel’s antics for long. They hadn't invited the Forsakers, any more than the last planetary government had. He’ll get us all killed.
The room had been hastily cleaned and dried, he noted. A single desk sat in the middle of the room, manned by a girl who couldn't be any older than Hannah or John himself. Her hair was strikingly blonde, a rarity amongst the Forsakers. John caught himself looking at her chest and hastily looked away, hoping desperately that his mother or stepfather hadn't noticed. They wouldn't be pleased if they thought he was interested in an Outsider girl.
His eyes swept the room. A trio of policemen were standing against one wall, eying him expressionlessly. It wasn't the hatred and contempt he recalled from Tarsus, where the police had never missed a chance to harass the Forsakers. It was something else, a caution, that bothered him more than he cared to admit. Something had broken in the last two hours and it would be a long time, if ever, before it came back. Behind the policemen, someone had moved extra fire hoses into the room. John wasn't sure if it was a warning or a desperate attempt to avoid lethal force.
“Please, be seated,” the girl said. Her Imperial Standard was oddly accented, but John could have listened to her voice all day. She sounded strikingly exotic, unlike the girls he remembered from Tarsus. But then, those girls had believed all sorts of lies about the Forsakers. “We’ll make this as quick as possible.”
John sat on a plastic chair, feeling it shift uncomfortably under his weight. Joel sat next to him, looking like a king on a throne; Konrad remained standing, motioning for the women to stay behind the men. He’d already warned his wife and stepdaughter not to talk to the Outsider, even though she was a girl. Who knew what ideas they’d pick up from simple conversation?
“My name is Judith,” the girl said. There was no patronymic or metronymic. John wondered idly if that meant anything on Arthur’s Seat. Lacking either would have implied an illegitimate birth, amongst the Forsakers. “I understand that you are a family?”
“This is my son,” Konrad said, nodding to Joel. He glanced past him, at John. “These are my stepchildren.”
“So you’re not their blood relative,” Judith mused. Her hand danced over her console. “Can I have your name?”
Konrad snorted. “Konrad, Son of Elijah,” he said. “Elder and First Speaker of the Commune.”
Judith no
dded, then looked at Joel. “And you?”
“Joel, Son of Konrad,” Joel said, in a mocking tone that put John’s teeth on edge. It was obvious, if one happened to be a Forsaker, but Outsiders had trouble following their relationships. “Steward of the Commune.”
The Outsider’s face darkened for a second, but she made no overt response. “And you?”
It took John a moment to realise that she was looking at him. “John, Son of John,” he said, when Joel elbowed him. It was suddenly hard to speak. “And I’m just a member of the commune.”
Judith smiled at him, then frowned as she tapped commands into her terminal. “The system isn't set up to track your naming system,” she said. “But we’ll see.”
She looked up at Hannah. “And you?”
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